


vacation bible school

by khuyen (y2kromantic)



Category: Kingdom Hearts (Video Games)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - 2000s, Church Sex, F/F, Kinda, Strangers with benefits, mall goth clothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:28:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26750638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/y2kromantic/pseuds/khuyen
Summary: Sometimes, Xion stops by the classroom to seeheragain.
Relationships: Naminé & Xion (Kingdom Hearts), Naminé/Xion (Kingdom Hearts)
Kudos: 5





	vacation bible school

**Author's Note:**

> rmbr kids itz the bible, not the straightble

The corridor stretched for seemingly forever, the light of the late morning sun reflecting rosy colors onto the plain, tiled floors. How far was the cathedral anyways? Down one more hallway, or maybe two more?

Xion clutched a box in her hands, a compact one with a special rosary in it to get blessed by the bishop. Her vicar of a father had called for her to carry out these stupid errands, half-assed gratitude barely lacing his words as he threw himself into more church things to look after.

Instead of driving her downtown to a carnival or something like any good divorced parent would on a nice, sunny weekend, her dad shoved more chores onto her workload—and at her old, shitty school nonetheless. As if she had all the time in the world to do them on a Saturday morning.

(She did—not that she would _ever_ admit that. Her mom took an overtime shift. Roxas worked part-time. Axel went out with his boyfriend.)

Each step of her boots echoed throughout empty halls, the loud taps against the tiled floors even audible through her headphones.

Some pop punk bopper blared in her ears—an unmemorable B-side of some indie garage band Xion couldn’t remember the name of. She paused to crank the volume dial of her MP3 player to the max—anything to drown out the deafening silence that followed.

What a sad sight this private school was, really. Religious ornaments mindlessly hung up everywhere she looked—as if to force an aura of holiness when the stained-glass windows weren’t enough. Some exemplar test scores and amateur drawings leftover from the school year were still stapled near the classrooms, but they became increasingly more and more sparse as summer passed by in a whirlwind.

It felt as if this place had always stayed the same. Stayed the same ever since Xion had stepped out of here three years ago—diploma in one hand and a middle finger in the other, directed towards who else but the statue of the Virgin Mary near the main entrance.

Xion felt her strides falter when she came across a certain hallway of classrooms.

In a massive building with way-too-many rooms to count, all these doors looked more or less the same; dark, brooding doors with brass handleset door knobs and moderate, rectangular four-pane windows.

Yet, Xion could tell—this was _her_ stop.

She checked behind her, and then in front. And before her mind could even process what she was doing, Xion made a hard right towards a passage of rooms—the kindergarten hall.

With each string of the guitar riff, her heart drummed in her chest—a feeling she wasn’t sure whether she welcomed or despised.

She stopped in front of a door she knew was _it_ —childlike crayon illustrations were taped onto the glass, colors of construction paper obnoxious enough to jump out at her senses and maybe bring some blind guy’s vision back.

Everything about the academy had remained the same, and yet, Xion couldn’t help but come back for the only thing that made Saturdays worth it anymore. The only person that kept this place fresh and anew in her mind.

She opened the door.

The classroom was lit aglow by the natural light outside, cool blues from the shade coming in from the windows. Desks were pushed together in clumps of six or more, all the low chairs stacked up against one side of the room.

She was organizing the dusty bookcases by the corner, wearing a loose blouse that left a lot to the imagination, and a long, plmmskirt that dragged along the carpet. She looked up, thin-wired spectacles that rested atop the bridge of her nose slightly obscuring the crinkles at the corner of her eyes.

It was like when Eros had first laid eyes upon Psyche for the first time (Or would it be how Beatrice scoffed in disgust at the sight of Benedict?). The sudden rush of ineffable emotions that overwhelmed every part of Xion’s senses.

She took out one side of her earbuds.

“I see you’re back again,” Naminé said, placing the last of the novels in her hands back onto the shelf.

Xion felt the urge to suppress a slight smirk as she threw the box somewhere on the side table near the doorway. Fuck that rosary, there were more _important_ things to do. “Every Saturday.” She reminded.

Naminé had volunteered at the cathedral year round, even when her services as a school teacher were unneeded—rearranging furniture, carrying messages to and from the Bishop’s office, attending prayer circles with the live-in nuns at noon on the dot.

Even in her leisure was she productive. Xion would sometimes catch her reading the latest New York Times Best Seller, or sketching flowers onto canvas paper in the emptiness of her classroom.

Pure. Kind. Generous. Hardworking. _Catholic_. A good girl—that was what she was.

 _And maybe a total whore_. The back of Xion’s mind uselessy supplied. 

Temptation of lady had drawn them together like magnets. From the second they spoke each other’s names in greeting, it felt like something was _there_. Something _missing_.

(Something like the burning desire to hump each other into submission behind closed bathroom stalls, but that was a second meeting best left forgotten.)

“Wearing those jeans again? I’m afraid they might cut off your blood circulation everytime I see them,” Naminé noted, hands beginning to wander around her hips as she neared closer to Xion’s embrace.

“Ever heard of fashion? Maybe that’ll get you out of your church getup every once in a while,” Xion retorted. She was convinced the other woman wore nothing but bland excuses for dresses anyways—because God forbid she show her shoulders or something. The _horror_.

“We _are_ at a church in a way, don’t you think?” Naminé pointed out, eyes traveling to the crucifix that hung above the entrance.

But Xion waved it off. Cross there or not, she doubt it meant much. “Yeah, okay, ‘cause Lucifer will burn you on a stake if you dare wear a tube top in a fifty mile vacinity of God’s sacred grounds.”

She watched for Naminé’s reaction, maybe hoping to work her up for once—searching for the furrowing of an eyebrow or a slight twitch at the corners of her mouth. But as always, she didn’t seem mad, or angry.

“Be mindful of who you are speaking to—I _am_ a follower of Christ after all,” Naminé simply stated, just as eloquent as always. A soft lilt to her voice. An itch of guilt in Xion’s gut.

“I will.” She won’t.

Xion stood not much taller than the fair-skinned woman, maybe a good inch or two—she wasn’t sure. Xion tipped her chin up to allow herself a better angle to lick those lips, meshing together in a kiss she _hoped_ would get a new reaction out of her.

Naminé clutched the plaid scarf that wrapped around her neck, reciprocating every move bite for bite. For someone who didn’t look like it, she sure was bold in her motions. Certain. Precise.

Xion rucked up the hems of Naminé’s baggy blouse, fingers wandering to caress every curve of her body—the dips in her waist. The small of her back. The band of her bra. _Everything_.

“It’s hot,” Naminé murmured when they broke apart. She took hold of Xion’s arms, gentle fingers closing around her clothed elbows. “Aren’t your arms burning in these?”

Xion self-consciously tugged at the hem of the striped sleeves around her wrists, trying to fight the flush that started to grow red across her cheeks. “These arm warmers are _cool_.”

“Ah. Well, it’s not worth risking your health for fashion, you see—rising body temperatures are no laughing matter,” Naminé warned.

Xion resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Sure, she means well, but must she remind Naminé again _why_ they were here in the first place? “What are you? My mom?”

She simpered at that, a pretty smile hidden behind a dainty hand. “I care for all.”

Xion grumbled something under her breath as she leaned in for another kiss from the woman, cutting off whatever train of thought was derailing towards another distraction.

Naminé was slightly taken aback, but as always, she adjusted well. Lips coming together so easily. Words taken away and swallowed deep into each other’s throats.

She stepped back, taking in the ferocity of Xion’s rough kisses, the back of her thighs scraping against the edge of a desk. Xion took the opportunity to slot her knee between her legs, an involuntary whimper coming from the back of Naminé’s throat as she did so.

With enough of the foreplay out of the way, Xion broke away, pinning Naminé between her arms at the ledges of the table. Instantly, Naminé took initiative to pull herself onto the wooden surface.

“Are you going to eat me out till I’m completely gone?” She coily suggested, tipping her head forwards to bump their foreheads together.

Wasn’t Xion supposed to be the _impure_ one? “Should some follower of Jesus be saying those sorta things?” She retorted.

“In what way is it an improper concept? I see nothing strange about eating when you’re hungry.”

“It sure as hell is ‘strange’ in the context you’re using it.” 

Naminé then laid sprawled across the desks, back gracing the cool wood of the table.

So open. So _pretty_. Just waiting to be _ruined_. Oh God, Xion sure hoped she would be.

Xion fiddled with the buttons of her blouse, urging to tear off the bra that choked so tightly to her body. Maybe she left burn marks.

(Damn, she _hoped_ she left burn marks.)

They clung to each other like starfishes—Xion clutching Naminé closer to her chest to suck dark hickeys into the far crook of her neck. To decorate her pale shoulders with blemishes. And bruise right below her collarbones.

And once Xion had decided she’d thoroughly marked the poor daughter of Christ up enough, she flipped Naminé’s conservative skirt up in one fell swoop. “Ready?”

“Of course I am,” was her answer.

“Geez, can’t you be a bit more excited?” Though, Xion found she didn’t mind it all that much.

She slid her thumb underneath the band of her panties—white lace, and soaked—and dragged them down.

With that, Xion was met with pretty folds, wet with slick and everything so _perfect_.

“Pretty,” She mused again to herself, and slipped a finger in.

Naminé hummed at that, and Xion took it as a sign to move. She began to push her finger in and out of her.

Xion stayed silent. Apart from her own name coming from the woman’s lips, or the quiet, breathy sighs escaping her throat, she was never _loud_.

Maybe Xion wanted to change that—so much so, she wondered whether it had become an obsession.

Once the tightness barely loosened around her finger, she added another digit into the mix. She pumped it in and out.

Though, not even a full minute after the second finger had gotten in, Xion inserted her third and final finger just for the hell of it. She knew Naminé was never one for beating around the bush anyways.

There came the hot, breathy pants as Xion’s fingers crooked in every corner, trying to find _that_ spot. Naminé squirmed and shook under her touch, back arched off the desks.

Naminé seemed to be enjoying herself, but not _enough_ for Xion’s standards. She wanted to see her close her eyes shut. She wanted to see her lose her composure just this once. She wanted to see her _react_.

Xion took out all three fingers, ignoring the whine coming from Naminé, and frowned at them. “Why can’t I find it?”

“It’s okay if you can’t find it. I’m fine with you just…” Naminé expected Xion to fill in the blanks.

Xion didn’t know what game of Mad Libs they were playing, but she took a shot in the dark. “Fingering you? No rhythm or nothing?”

“No rhythm or _anything_ ,” The woman corrected her.

Xion just rolled her eyes. Right—once a teacher, always a teacher.

She looked again at her fingers, covered in fluids, and then back at the exposed part.

Suddenly, an idea popped into her head, and she absentmindedly licked her lips.

Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe it could be good. Whatever—Xion _wanted_ to do this.

Naminé must have noticed the hazed look in those blue eyes, tilting her head in confusion. Xion even didn’t bother to humor her as she lowered her head closer to her part.

“Can I?” She asked, a wink thrown her fingers way.

Naminé blinked a few times before she finally caught on. “Yes. Oh God, _please_ ,” She implored.

Xion nodded, and just went for it. Her tongue darted all around those lips, massaging the sensitive nub maybe once or twice before Xion stopped in surprise.

Naminé had made a new sound. It was faint, but different from any other pant or groan.

Xion’s tongue curiously ran over the same spot again, putting more pressure into it this time. Naminé shifted her body up, sighing as the friction made her delirious.

This.

This was _definitely_ new.

(Xion wondered if she could get the other woman _moaning aloud_ this time around.)

Naminé was _gorgeous_ like this. She was always so elegant and beautiful before, but _damn_.

Xion soon took to slipping her tongue into her hole, and things really took off from there. Naminé wailed again, and Xion knew she’d done her job right.

“ _Oh, Xion_ ,” Naminé whimpered, over the moon as gasps and sighs come from her mouth. The palms of her hand buried Xion further into her part, and Xion was more than happy to oblige.

It was a struggle to keep her mouth closed now, Xion noticed. The normally quiet, reserved, and composed Naminé everybody knew was unravelling at the seams.

Her voice reached a new volume—a new octave—and Xion couldn’t help but feel a bit giddy at that.

She tried to push her tongue in further, letting it wander around the closed walls until it couldn’t anymore.

(Xion doesn’t get it. She’s getting what she had wanted, yet a glance up at Naminé’s modest skirt kept her eyes focused straight down.)

Xion let it explore until it found what she was really looking for— _that spot._ What her fingers couldn’t do, her tongue did.

The woman’s eyebrows scrunched up even more than usual. Her mouth pressed into a thin line, pleasure shaking throughout her body.

“Xion! Xion!!” She wailed, her voice both high-pitched and a whisper at once.

She was about to come. Xion knew the signs. Knew them all well enough it was _embarrassing_.

Naminé echoed her name a few times more, and with that came in an influx of fluids that flooded her mouth.

Xion made sure to drink it all up.

(Was this wrong? She never believed in all that heaven or hell nonsense, but she still wondered.)

The afterglow of the post-sex high came at a snail’s pace. Their bodies slick with sweat and faces wet from each other’s drool. Maybe Naminé did have a point—Xion was about ten seconds away from dying in this summer heat.

Shit, things were hot. Two hundred fucking years in this plot of land, and not even a single person in this goddamn convent even thought to install an air conditioning unit? Unbelievable.

Xion shook away her dumb thoughts as she leaned over towards the teacher’s desk to take some tissues.

She cleaned the fluids that coated her fingers. Cleaned the drool that dripped from both of their lips. The slick that had flowed onto the desks.

 _A reaction._ Xion thought in the back of her mind. She felt _proud_ in the moment, but not _anymore._

“Hah. Thank you,” Naminé bowed her head, voice very much out of breath.

She still pressed her back to the desks, legs pulling close together. Her hands found way to smooth her skirt down, as if to hide those shameful ten minutes. Like it never happened.

Right. Naminé was still off-limits.

“No problem,” _There was a huge problem_. “See you again next week?” _Would she still want her?_

“I’ll be here.” Naminé said, probably more out of courtesy than anything.

Xion threw the used tissues into the bin, and picked up the box she threw aside earlier. She placed back on her headphones to blast Green Day loudly into her ears. Hopefully enough to rupture her eardrums.

She left, closing the door behind her.

**Author's Note:**

> title ripped from song of same name. a banger. tried to write 2000's aesthetic & failed kinda. hc tht the sea salt trio dress like mall goth CLOWNS
> 
> fangz 4 reading!! appreciate it v much!!!11 xoxo stay goffik


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